


Professor Doctor

by TARDISTraveller42



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Adventure, College, Domestic, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, School, Series 10, St. Luke's University, Teaching, The vault, University
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2018-11-13 08:07:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 18,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11180589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TARDISTraveller42/pseuds/TARDISTraveller42
Summary: The Doctor and Nardole were at St. Luke's University for decades before they even met Bill. These are some of their adventures and misadventures in and around the university, trying to appear normal, and trying not to get too distracted by the calling of the cosmos.





	1. Professor Doctor

Professor Doctor

The Doctor straightened his shirt and fiddled with his cuffs for the fifth time that morning, eyes peering judgmentally at the figure in the mirror leaned on the TARDIS Console. "I once traveled with someone who called me professor. Lovely girl. Had an affinity for explosives."

As Nardole helped him put on his cleanest red velvet jacket, he asked softly, "Sir, are you nervous?"

The Doctor's head turned sharply to his companion as he fixed his lapels. "What makes you think I'm nervous?"

"Because that's the third time you've mentioned Ace McShane. And you're sweating."

The Doctor faced the mirror again quickly. "Am I? Is it noticeable?"

Nardole gazed up at the Time Rotor and murmured, "Well, I noticed it."

The Doctor sighed at his reflection and pulled a comb out from one of his hidden, never-ending pockets. He brushed it through his unruly hair heedlessly and then turned back to Nardole, a wild look in his wide eyes. "How do I look?"

"You look fine. I'd be more worried about how late you're going to be if you keep worrying over yourself."

Without saying a word or even glancing over, the Doctor reached toward one of the levers and pulled. "There; gave us ten extra minutes."

Nardole shook his head couldn't help the smile that came to his face as the Doctor went back to combing his curly and tangled hair. "I've seen you face Daleks and soldiers but what gets you anxious is a job interview?"

The Doctor shot him a glaring eye before spinning back to the mirror for some extra preening. "We've already set up the vault. If I can't get a teaching job, people will start to get suspicious of us. We won't be able to check up on it as much as we should."

Nardole fiddled with the dials on the Console. "Is it really that big of a deal, though? It's just a woman in a box, isn't it?"

This time, the Doctor turned fully to his companion, putting both hands on the other man's shoulders. "Nardole, this is important: Missy can not get out of the vault. She is more dangerous than anything else on this planet, and that's including fascists, nuclear bombs, and all of the creatures at the bottom of the ocean."

The Doctor raised his hands to the sides of Nardole's head, earning a very bewildered look, and closed his eyes. A moment later, Nardole's head was flooded with stories of the Master; of death and destruction and deceit. Of chances at redemption and ultimate betrayal. An endless, maddening drumbeat and merciless, needless killing.

When the Doctor finally pulled away and replaced his hands on Nardole's shoulders, the shorter man was shaking. The Doctor's eyes were piercing and unblinking. "Nardole, do you promise to help me watch over the vault?"

Nardole nodded furiously, his eyes still darting fearfully across the Doctor's face.

"Do you swear you'll do everything you can to prevent Missy from escaping?"

"Uh-huh."

"And you'll do everything in your power to keep me here and make sure I don't abandon my post?"

Nardole was silent, mind reeling with what he had seen. The Doctor shook him roughly. "Nardole!"

"Yes! Yes; I swear!"

The Doctor let go of him instantly, face beaming, and clapped his hands together. "Good. Glad that's settled. Now, I don't know what else to do about this hair…"

He checked himself over in the mirror with a frown, running his hands through his unkempt hair. Nardole smiled. "I think it kinda works. In a mad-scientist kind of way. Like Einstein! He was a professor."

The Doctor looked back at Nardole, relaxed. "You think I'll get the job?"

Nardole nodded. "I think you'd better. Now-" Nardole led the Doctor with a hand on his back toward the doors. "I think you better get going or you'll be late, Time Lord."

The Doctor threw him a disapproving smirk and went out the door, looking up at the tall stony building in front of him. He spun around to Nardole, who was watching him from the threshold. "Any last minute tips?"

Nardole grinned. "Don't tell the truth, make yourself sound important, and pretend to be charming. Should do the trick."

The Doctor replied simply, "Be myself then?"

"Be yourself."

They shared one last smile before the Doctor turned back to the university, feeling almost like he were about to face a legion of Cybermen. He took a deep breath and whispered, "Geronimo," before setting off toward the building.

Hours later, the Doctor sat with his back against the vault, takeaway container and chopsticks in his hands. After swallowing a mouthful of chicken and rice, he called out absently, "I got the job. I'm a professor now. I've even got an ID card and a discount at the canteen. The chips are delicious; I'll have to bring you some sometime."

A loud bang came from the other side of the thick wall, and the Doctor creased his eyebrows. "I don't like this setup, either. I have no idea how long I'll have to stay here. Nardole won't let me near the TARDIS except for food and sleep. I don't even know what I'm supposed to teach. It's not even 1940, you know. Might as well be the dark ages."

The Doctor dropped his chopstick-laden hand to his lap as he stared into the darkness of the underground area. Another bang from inside the vault broke his thoughts and brought him to his feet. "If you're just going to be rude, I'm going to go back to my office. Nardole says we have to decorate it to make it more presentable. I'm going domestic for you."

A final bang resounded through the corridor. The Doctor stared at the vault door for a moment, then shook his head. "I have to get back. I've got three lectures tomorrow and I have to study my history so I don't mention something that doesn't exist yet. Nardole should be back later."

The Doctor waited for another knock, but none came. After a moment of silence, he closed his takeaway container and went outside, to where the stars were shining infinitely above. No light pollution from the city. The cosmos were fully visible, calling to him to run away and go on an adventure. But Nardole called louder from the nearby doorway. "Don't get into any trouble while I'm gone. You've got a big day ahead tomorrow, professor Doctor."

Nardole clapped him on the shoulder and disappeared into the underground corridors, and the Doctor turned back to the university building in front of him. An odd, unforced smile curled his lip as he looked at the darkened windows above. Tomorrow he'd be teaching a whole bunch of bright young minds, discussing space and time and the universe; maybe even a book or two. Life on Earth couldn't be all that bad. Maybe, for once, he could learn to live in one place for a while; to have a space to call his own and a place where he belonged. Maybe, for a while, the stars could just be distant orbs of chemicals and light.


	2. First Lecture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor teaches his first class at St. Luke's University.

First Lecture

The Doctor was standing at the front of a small room, numerous books cradled in his arms, staring at the empty seats with wide, haunted eyes. On the chalkboard behind him, someone had already scribbled his name, Doctor, and the name of this lecture, which apparently was ‘Elementary Writing Principles’. New teachers always did get the most boring classes, didn’t they?

A few students shuffled suddenly into the room, and the Doctor practically dropped his books on the table below him with a resounding thud. The students glanced at him curiously as they took their seats, their bookbags old and worn beside them. Right. Early 1930s. Depression in America. World War Two building everywhere else. Not an easy time for anybody.

The Doctor cleared his throat as the class settled, now twenty people strong. His eye scanned the room and took inventory. All male. All white. All wearing the same stuffy uniform. The Doctor gritted his teeth. Why hadn’t he gone a little further into the future? To a time when humans were a little more tolerant and a little more tolerable?

It was at this point the Doctor realized they were all waiting for him to say something. He was now a minute over the official start of class. “Good morning, everybody.”

In unison, the class responded, “Good morning, professor.”

The Doctor was taken aback for a moment at the drone, slightly creepy murmur they had just addressed him with, but blinked himself back into focus. “So, today, w-we’ll be talking about, ugh…”

He flipped through the books on his desk, some about physics and some about botany, and finally found one that resembled a writing textbook. “Writing. Elementary Principles of Writing; right.”

A boy in the front row slowly raised his hand, staring at the chalkboard. The Doctor gestured for him to speak. “Um, professor, I’m sorry; what’s your name? It’s just, it only says ‘Doctor’.”

The Doctor nodded. “Just Doctor is fine.”

The boy’s hand faltered, slowly lowering to his desk again. His brow creased in confusion. “Just...just Doctor?”

The Doctor looked around the room awkwardly, noting that half the class was staring at him with empty eyes and the other half was fiddling with their pencils and fingernails. It was all he could do not to run out the door and fly far, far away. Maybe the weather was nice on Mars at this time of year. Probably a bit nippy, but…

“Alright!” The Doctor clapped his hands together and the class jolted in their seats, most of them straightening upright in their chairs, reawoken from a daze. “Writing is one of the most important things you’ll ever learn, so I suppose you’d all better pay attention. This class might just save your life one day. Or help you save someone else’s life.”

He turned a few pages in the writing textbook and then slammed it shut, instead walking in front of the desk and leaning on the front, holding onto the wood with both hands beside him to ground himself. “How many of you have ever read something that really stuck with you?”

Two or three students reluctantly raised their hands. The Doctor pointed at the boy furthest to the back. “What was it?”

The student turned to his friends for help, then cleared his throat and started, “Well, it was an article. About the Hoovervilles in America. And how, well, a lot of people say that the government isn’t helping much with the depression.”

The boy beside him nudged his arm roughly, and he shrunk into his seat. Softly, the boy murmured, “That’s just what the article said, I mean.”

The Doctor responded immediately, “No, that’s good. That’s good. Articles like that are supposed to make you feel something. Did you agree with what it said?”

The boy’s eyes went wide. “I...don’t know. Maybe some of it, yes.”

The Doctor smiled, trying to make eye contact with the boy but he was staring at his fingers. “It’s alright to have an opinion. And it’s alright if your feelings are mixed. That’s best, actually. If you can see all sides of the story, that will make you more compassionate and more aware of the world around you.”

A student on the far left side of the room raised his hand, more confident than the young boy earlier. “Is it always best to agree with both sides?”

Images of wars and arguments and Daleks and soldiers whizzed through the Doctor’s head. “No. Not always.”

The boy lowered his hand and asked, “How do you know if you should pick a side or not?”

The Doctor looked up at the ceiling, mind racing for a good answer. An unwitting smile danced across his face, and finally he felt himself really getting into this whole ‘teaching’ thing.

“Sometimes there are arguments or debates that have a lot of sides, and all of them have good, arguable points. But sometimes there are things that can’t be debated. People might try and influence you with sensational words or pictures, but they don’t have any real, supportable claim. Or their claim is so unsupportable that it even breeches basic morality or common sense.”

The Doctor pushed off the desk and put his hands in his pockets, gazing around the room. The class was watching him now, alert and attentive; not one student folding a paper airplane.

“Over the next few years, I think you’ll all be faced with a lot of conflicting arguments and you’ll start to wonder what the truth really is, or if it matters or not. Everyone’s alibi will have a degree of imagination or emotion rather than rationality. But you have to look for the truth regardless. You have to accept that most problems don’t have an obvious solution, and issues are almost never the fault of one person or one group. The world is wide and people can convince you of a lot of bad, untrue things. Let your conscience be your guide.”

The Doctor gritted his teeth as he racked his mind for Dumbo’s release date, seven or eight years in the future. Quickly, though, he let this thought go as he looked around the room and found students scribbling notes and eyeing him with awe. As he turned back to the textbook and tried and get back onto the topic of writing, or whatever it was he was supposed to be talking about, a smile came onto his face. Perhaps he could get used to this; maybe even change a life or two.


	3. Good Cop, Bad Cop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor and Nardole mark student essays.

Good Cop, Bad Cop

Nardole pushed the office door open with his foot and bustled in to find the Doctor sitting behind his desk facing the back wall. Papers upon papers were were strewn on the tabletop and the floor around his chair. With a sigh, Nardole set the mugs he was carrying down on the edge of the desk and muttered, “Did a hurricane come through or have you finally been doing your marking?”

The Doctor spun around his chair, a student’s essay in his hand and a mischievous smirk on his face. “We’ll see if Mr. Brody ever lazes on his grammar again.”

Nardole eyed the paper in the Doctor’s hand. “They still don’t have autocorrect?”

The Doctor turned an eye and a crooked brow up to his companion. “It’s 1935.”

Nardole simply shrugged and took a swig of his tea. The Doctor dropped the essay on the desk and Nardole looked it over, gesturing with his mug as an idea hit him. “Maybe he doesn’t know English. Lord knows I don’t.”

The Doctor shook his head, tapping his right temple with a pointer finger. “TARDIS telepathic circuit would be working better than this. The words are so turned around that it’s not correct in any language.”

Nardole read the first few lines of the essay and his eyes widened. “Wow.”

“Tried to tell you.”

The Doctor sorted through the stack of essays in front of him, putting the graded papers in one small pile on his right and the ungraded papers in a much larger pile on his left. Nardole peered over the desk and read a red inked ‘50%’ at the top of one student’s essay. “Ouch. You’re not one to give easy firsts, are you?”

The Doctor tilted his head as he grabbed his mug from across the desk and took a sip. “I can’t go easy on them at university level. My cover will be blown.”

Nardole sat at the seat opposite the Doctor and went to pick the top paper off of the pile of unmarked papers. The Doctor’s hand slammed down quicker than a blink. “What are you doing?”

“I wanna read one. Maybe I can help you get this done faster.”

The Doctor considered his proposal for a moment, then slowly dropped his hand back to the teacup. “Alright. But only use erasable ink.”

Nardole shook his head as he scooped up a pile of five or so essays. Under his breath, he murmured, “Trust me to guard a Time Lady in a vault with you, but not marking students’ papers.”

The Doctor dropped his jaw to reply, but thought better of it. He really was relieved to have the help and Nardole deserved only gratitude with all the assistance he’d given him over the past year or so. Not to mention that Nardole was really the Doctor’s only companion, beside Missy. The Doctor really couldn’t afford to hurt his friend, or make him angry in any way. Then he’d have to talk to himself.

“Hey, I’m not taking over for you, am I?”

The Doctor blinked and turned down to the paper in front of him, which he’d only partially read. He shook his head and sat up straighter, taking a quick sip of his tea before getting to work.

They carried on in this way for the next two hours, each making the odd joke or dissatisfied groan as they read the work of the Doctor’s students. At one point, Nardole picked up a paper and held it practically on top of his nose, squinting his eyes at the infinitesimally small, cursive print. “Ugh, Doctor?”

He passed the essay to the Doctor, whose lips quirked into a smile. “This is Robert’s. I know his handwriting anywhere. Here, you take this one.”

He passed a different, slightly more legible essay to Nardole, who went right back into excitedly scribbling notes and comments in the margins of the paper.

As the sun began sinking and Nardole turned on the lights, the Doctor leaned back in his chair, letting out a deep sigh. “Finally, I’m finished. How’re yours coming along?”

Nardole returned to the desk and added his pile of marked papers to the Doctor’s, a proud grin on his face. “All done.”

The Doctor glanced down and read the marking on the top of the essay, then flipped through the other essays from Nardole’s pile. “You gave almost all of them a first!”

Nardole reached to the center of the table, where they’d set a stash of crisps they'd smuggled from the TARDIS, and shrugged. “They deserved it.”

The Doctor furrowed his brows, and Nardole rolled his eyes, taking a bite of his crisp. “Come on, give them a break for once. I’m sure they’ll all appreciate it. Maybe it’ll do them some good.”

“What? Lying to them to make them feel better?”

“Feeling extra grumpy today, I see.” Nardole sat up straighter. “When kids think their professor sees potential in them, they work harder. It’s basic human fact.”

The Doctor grabbed a crisp from the table and eyed Nardole mysteriously. “Does that really work?”

Nardole wiped his hands together. “Listen, while you’ve been lecturing, I’ve been wandering the halls. I know what works and what doesn’t.” He smiled to himself. “I’ve even become something of a mentor to some of the students here.”

The Doctor laughed, nearly choking on the crisp in his mouth. “What? You?”

Nardole pointed at the Doctor. “Oi! I have a lot I can teach these kids.”

“Nardole, you got lost getting these crisps from the TARDIS kitchen. And I’m not even going to mention what happened on the moon last week.”

“That had nothing to do with me! Anyway, if you’d stayed on Earth guarding the vault like I’d told you…”

The Doctor’s eyes drifted down to the desk as they both sobered. A moment later, the Time Lord finally looked up again. “Maybe I’ll try and be good cop tomorrow. Bring them some sweets or have class outside.”

Nardole smiled like a kid. “Ooh, I love outdoor classes. You should sit them under the tree in front of the Science Hall-”

“Nardole.”

“Or watch the birds! There are a lot of things they can learn from those crows, they really know their stuff-”

“Nardole. Don’t ruin it.”

Nardole closed his mouth in a smile, and a few seconds later, the Doctor grinned back, taking another crisp and trying to think of how he could be a more fun and approachable teacher. Perhaps he should’ve let Nardole give him tips a long time ago.


	4. Enemies Above and Beside Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> World War II has started, and the Doctor suddenly has another use for the vault.

Enemies Above and Beside Us

War. Everything always ended in war, didn’t it?

Of course, the Doctor had known this was coming. He’d been in WWII countless times, in countless different areas, with countless different faces. But this was the first time he was living through it first hand, practically as a human.

He looked up at his classroom. At least a quarter of his students had left to join the military, leaving empty desks across the back two rows. The ones who remained were watching him with wide, tired eyes. An air strike was due anywhere and anytime now. It was a miracle none had come to them yet. London was getting hit almost daily.

Slowly, he walked around handing each of them a blank sheet of paper, then returned to the front of the classroom. The students eyed him with perplexity.

“I’m giving you the day off. No class today.”

The boy in the front, Roger Brown, asked suddenly, “What’s the paper for then?”

The Doctor was too tired and too lenient to comment on speaking out of turn. “That, Mr. Brown, is for anything you care to write about. You can write a letter. Or a poem. Or a song. Maybe even a book.”

The Doctor leaned on the desk behind him. “Writing...writing helps in times like these. If you don’t want to write, then just draw. Or scribble. Just make something. War is destroying enough as it is. We need creators.”

The boys slowly gathered their things and exited without another word. Everyone was moving slowly these days. Either too slowly or too quickly. Slowly, then all at once. War was Hell.

“Nardole, I have an idea.”

The shorter man groaned as he looked at the wide eyed professor who’d just walked into the TARDIS. “I hate when you have ideas.”

The Doctor began digging under the Console panels, tossing bits and bobs out haphazardly as his search proved fruitless. Nardole peered around him cautiously. “Looking for something?”

“Handcuffs.”

Nardole’s eyes widened for a second. “Sir, why-”

“No time. Nardole-”

He turned up to his companion, a pair of handcuffs in his grasp. “I need you to come with me to the vault.”

Nardole suddenly pieced things together, and vehemently began shaking his head. “No, sir, you promised! You said we weren’t going to take her out again. That was the deal.”

The Doctor started out of the TARDIS. “That was before I realized the vault is a perfect air raid shelter!”

He went out the door with one more mad, hopeful look in his eye, and Nardole slowly and unwillingly followed after. “I don’t like this.”

The Doctor glided his hand over the door of the vault, Nardole holding the handcuffs in both of his shaking hands. “I still don’t like this.”

“Shoosh.”

The Doctor leaned his ear against the metal, moving his hands across the buttons and dials. Finally, the door clicked open, and he was able to push through. Nardole stayed frozen as the Doctor went into the vault. Ever so slowly, he gained the courage to saunter in just before the doors closed behind.

The vault was enormous, but mostly empty. Missy was standing on the platform in the center of the room watching them as they entered, that glint in her eye sending shivers down Nardole’s spine. The Doctor took the handcuffs from him and approached the platform, never breaking eye contact with his oldest friend and enemy. Missy put her hands on her hips.

“What are those for, Doctor? Have I been misbehaving?”

The Doctor kept a set frown on his face. “We need the vault.”

Missy gestured the space with both arms. “You’re welcome anytime.”

The Doctor blinked. “We need the vault for other people. And we can’t trust you. Not yet.”

“Yet? That’s a change.”

The Doctor simply walked up the steps to the platform, earning an anxious gasp from Nardole. He ignored his friend and extended a hand to Missy. “There’s going to be an air raid in this area tonight, if my history is correct. So me and you are going to go to my office while everyone else hides down here.”

The handcuffs clicked over Missy’s wrists as she took the Doctor’s hand. Nardole practically squeaked with sudden realization. “Wait, sir, what if there is an air raid? Your office isn’t safe.”

The Doctor grit his teeth. “No, and we can’t very well bring her in the TARDIS. Which is why you’re staying here. Get as many people down here as you can.”

The Doctor led Missy out of the vault as Nardole stammered, running behind them. “You can’t just...what if something happens to you?”

They stepped out of the Vault, not bothering to shut the door behind. The Doctor kept a hold of Missy’s hand as he led the way up the steps. “We’re Time Lords. We’ll be fine.”

“Heard that before,” Nardole muttered quietly. The Doctor either didn’t hear him or he elected to ignore him.

They had been camped out in the office for over two hours, and both the Doctor and Missy were casually sitting on the floor going through his endless pile of students’ essays. The Doctor had taken off Missy’s handcuffs as soon as Nardole was out of sight, and had given her a mug of tea and a red pen soon after. The red pen he soon regretted.

“On this one you just wrote ‘drop out’.”

Missy glanced over the paper and shrugged. “And on this one I drew a little picture of a Dalek. Do you like it?”

The Doctor let out a deep breath and took the rest of the essays from her. “They don’t even know what Daleks are.”

“It’s not my fault you brought me to a planet of primitives.”

“Missy…”

“I know: I’m supposed to be ‘good’ now.”

“No, Missy.”

The Doctor got to his knees and looked up. A few flakes of dust fell from the ceiling as the room began to rattle. The Doctor’s eyes met Missy’s. “Well, you were right about the air raid.”

In the distance, the whistle of an incoming bomb came just a second before an explosion lit up in the Doctor’s eyes from the window. He jumped to his feet. “Missy, come on. Let’s get under the desk.”

The Time Lady stood slowly beside him and dusted herself off. The Doctor grabbed her hand tightly and pulled her towards the desk as another whistle came into his ears. This one was much, much louder. The Doctor threw a glance out the window and his eyes grew wide. “Get down!”

The entire room shuddered and blasted as an explosion landed just outside. The Doctor barely registered the window glass that cut his cheek as he dove over Missy to shield her from the blast. He couldn't hear anything but ringing; couldn’t smell anything except the smoke that had filled the room and Missy’s hair product below him. The Doctor shut his eyes as another blast fell, even closer, sending another wave of the unending ringing into his ears as he fell over onto his back, arm dropping loose-limbed to his side on the floor. He fell unconscious soon after.

The all clear sounded, and Missy found herself waking up with a strange feeling in her ears and vision that was ashy and blurred. She blinked a few times to clear her head and then looked out the gaping hole where a wall once was; saw the rubble and soot covering toppled bookshelves and strewn papers, now lying all over the floor and tabletops. She turned down and saw the Doctor lying beside her, still unconscious. His face was covered in scratches, his face ashen. Missy suddenly felt strange, foreign tears prick her eyes.

He’d protected her. He’d risked himself for her. Still, that was nothing new. He was the Doctor. But she was the Master. That was the troubling bit. She’d done nothing but torment him and, still, his default was to protect her. Missy rested her hand on his neck and felt relief when the double heartbeat throbbed beneath her palm. Her hand moved up to his cheek, thumb brushing gently across the unwounded parts of his cheek.

“I’ll never be as good as you, Doctor.”

She heard footsteps coming down the hall and instantly steeled, pulling her hand away from the Doctor and placing it on her lap. Nardole entered, covering his face in his sleeve to shield the smoke still filtering through the air. When he saw the Doctor lying inate on the floor, he dropped instantly to his knees.

“Doctor!”

Nardole took his hand and rubbed it with his own to try and bring him round. Missy coughed to clear her throat and said sharply, “He’ll be fine.”

Nardole looked up at Missy, something like accusation in his eye. “What happened?”

Missy replied shortly, “Oh, there was a bomb. Didn’t you hear it?”

“I mean...why is he hurt and you’re fine?”

“Why do you think? He’s the Doctor. He always loves to be the hero. Trust me, I don’t like him risking his life either. Not when I’m not the one threatening him. Takes the fun out of it.”

Nardole didn’t know if he was satisfied with her answer, but the Doctor’s sudden stirring stole his attention. “Doctor? Can you hear me?”

The Doctor sat up, with a little help from Nardole, and put his face in his crossed arms, flinching as the cuts on his face made contact with his skin. Nardole gritted his teeth. “Better get you cleaned up. And her back in the vault.”

Missy widened her eyes in mock offence. “Excuse me.”

The Doctor got slowly to his feet, using Nardole as an aid, and gave them each a look that silenced any possible bickering. Nardole put the Doctor’s arm around his shoulder and led him toward the door. “We’d better go the back way. Don’t want humans finding you in this state. They’ll throw you in a hospital.”

The trio made their way slowly and carefully back to the vault, pausing for breath whenever the Doctor got tired or a university member passed by. When they finally reached the large, empty room, Missy sauntered to the platform and sat down with her legs stretched in front of her, clicking her heels together. Nardole deposited the Doctor into the armchair with one eye on the Time Lady. “Are you gonna be alright? I have to go find a medkit.”

The Doctor sank into his chair and shut his eyes. “We’re fine.”

Nardole gave them each one last look and went out the door. Missy turned to the Doctor as the door shut. “You look terrible.”

The Doctor rested his chin on his palm and smirked, eyes still closed. “Thanks.”

Missy clicked her heels together a few more times, then, in a voice so small the Doctor thought he was imagining it, said, “Thank you.”

The Doctor opened his eyes, feeling a stabbing pain rush through his chest as he took in the image of Missy. She looked just as she did when they were younger. When they were full of hope. Without regret. Two friends against the world.

“You would’ve done the same for me.”

Missy eyed him mysteriously. “Would I?”

They stayed staring at each other for a full minute before Nardole came bustling in carrying a red, plastic box. Missy groaned. “Boring old Noddy’s back. Ruining all the fun.”


	5. War is Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> World War II has ended, and the Doctor goes to see Missy to discuss morality.

War is Over

The Doctor’s eyes scanned over the paper in his hands, eyebrows furrowing more and more as he read. As soon as he reached the bottom of the page, he crumpled it in his hands and tossed it into the bin beside his desk. With a sigh, he rested his elbows on the desk and sank his face into his hands. War war over. But what was the cost?

Nardole entered a moment later carrying the usual tray of tea and biscuits. He hardly dared stare at the sulking Doctor, instead setting down the professor’s tea down in silence and backing away immediately. He cleared his throat just loud enough to make an impact. “I put some extra sugar in it today. Rations are finally back to normal, it seems.”

The Doctor didn’t respond to his words, so Nardole shook his head and went to leave. As he turned, though, a mess beside the Doctor’s desk caught his eye. Upon inspection, it was a pile of crumpled up, forgotten news pages from all over the world. Nardole picked one up and read the headlines. “Oh; I see. Well; it was never going to end well, was it?”

Finally, the Doctor’s hands dropped to the table. Nardole couldn’t decide whether the glisten in his eyes made him look older or younger.

“Nardole.”

The Doctor paused, scratching the back of his head. His companion took a step toward him. “Yes sir?”

The Doctor looked up at him and wrapped a hand around his mug. “Thanks for the extra sugar.”

Nardole smiled softly, then retreated into the TARDIS. The Doctor sipped his tea and looked over his desk. Among a few piles of dishevelled papers and scribbled notes sat an envelope with the university insignia on it. The Doctor set down his tea and tore it open.

His eyes flitted across and down the papers that had been in the envelope. Class assignments; lists of students; hours, dates, and times. The Doctor was about to leave it all for another day, but suddenly he looked closer at the student list. It was just a little over half the amount of students that they usually had, and almost entirely eighteen year olds, too young to have been involved in the war effort.

The Doctor let out another shaky sigh and dropped the papers onto his desk, staring at the wall with his chin resting on his hand. At least it was all over. At least, maybe, they could start to move on.

The Doctor entered the vault with two stacks of newspapers in his hands, kicking the door shut with his foot. Missy was sat in the armchair, and didn’t look at him until he was in front of her. She rolled her eyes. “I don’t need attention every day, Doctor. I’m not one of your pet humans.”

The Doctor dropped the stack of newspapers onto the floor. “I brought you these. So you’ll know what’s going on.”

Missy read the front headline of the paper on top. She smirked and turned to the Doctor. “The good guys are dropping bombs now? How come they’re allowed to do it, but I can’t?”

The Doctor paced toward the wall, keeping one eye on Missy. “They’re not ‘allowed’. It just happened. It was always going to happen.”

He stared at the wall for a moment. Missy almost rolled her eyes again. “Are you going all contemplative? You sound like those old fuddy-duddys on Gallifrey; always talking about the rules and fixed points.”

The Doctor took a deep breath and let it out through his mouth. After a moment of silence, he said, “Good people don’t drop bombs. Scared people do, sometimes.”

“Maybe I’ve just been scared this whole time.”

The Doctor’s lips quirked into a sad smile. He looked at his shoes and kicked some dust up. “Maybe.”

Missy suddenly started laughing, almost maniacally. The Doctor watched her for a few seconds before asking quietly, “What’s so funny?”

She got herself together slowly, then relaxed on the chair, letting her head fall back over the arm. “You think you have it all figured out. Some people are good and some people are bad, and it’s not because of what they do; it’s because of how you see them. Or are you going to bring down your reign of terror on everyone at the Manhattan Project? You’ve done it to the Daleks for much less.”

The Doctor’s head perked up, a fire sparkling in his eyes, but he kept his voice calm and collected. “This is different.”

Missy cocked her head to the side. “Is it? Why? Because they haven’t attacked you or your little friends?”

The Doctor took a few steps toward the Time Lady. “What do you want me to do?”

Missy shrugged, an amused smile on her face. “Teach me to be good.”

The Doctor spun around and faced the empty platform bringing a hand to his mouth. Then he dropped it and turned halfway back toward Missy. “You know it’s complicated. It’s not black and white. No one is completely bad and no one is completely good.”

“What makes someone good, then? Or worth redeeming? What makes me worth teaching?”

He turned to her fully, looking everywhere except directly at her. “I don’t know.”

She smirked and leaned her head against the seatback. He gestured to himself, his voice breaking slightly, “Look; I’m trying my best here, okay? I don’t know everything about morality; I don’t think anyone does. But when I looked at you, I saw my friend and...I saw hope.”

They stared into each other’s eyes for a moment, both seeing the other as they were a long, long time ago on a planet neither of them had seen in a while. Then, Missy asked quietly, “What does hope look like?”

The Doctor smiled softly. “You asked me to teach you. And then you cried.”

Missy raised an eyebrow. “Where there’s tears, there’s hope?”

The Doctor nodded, biting his bottom lip. “Where there’s tears, there’s hope.

When Nardole came into the Doctor’s office for the second time that day, now carrying a few books from the TARDIS Console room, he found the room a complete and utter mess of papers and boxes. Though this wasn’t uncommon, it was always a great big annoyance, and one he’d complained to the Doctor about numerous times. Sometimes it was like that man never listened to a word…

“Nardole! Just the cyborg I wanted to see! Come and help me sort this stuff out.”

Nardole set the books down beside the TARDIS and ambled across the room to where the Doctor was knelt over a piece of paper. A stack of boxes stood to his left, nearly reaching the ceiling.

“Nardole, I need you to send those to all of my students. The list is on my desk.”

Nardole peeked into one of the boxes, which was full of pens, papers, and even a typewriter. “Sir, what-”

The Doctor looked up at him with wide eyes. He was more awake and more energetic than Nardole had seen him since the war broke out. The Doctor said, “It’s time to move on. I’m writing a letter to the headmaster about changing the rules a bit. It’s time we let anyone come here, wasn’t it? I’ve had enough of rich sons of Lords and tycoons. Half of them don’t even know what to do with a degree.”

Nardole tried to pick up one of the boxes, but stopped before it had even left the floor. “Sir, isn’t this a bit over the top? What if you’re fired?”

The Doctor smirked, scribbling his letter. “What’s life without a little risk?”

“What about the vault? Have you lost your mind?”

The Doctor dropped his pen onto the floor and turned up to Nardole. “I’ve been trying to make Missy good, but you know what I learned? Good people don’t exist. It’s not about being a ‘good person’. It never was. It’s about doing your best with what you have. And right now, a lot of kids need me to step up and speak for them because they aren’t being heard.”

Nardole held his gaze for a minute, then went back to the boxes. “Doctor?”

“Yeah?”

Nardole looked at his friend. “You’re going to help me carry these.”

The Doctor rolled his eyes and went back to his letter writing. “Fine. As soon as I’m done here I’ll grab a few.”

Nardole shifted the box into his grasp, then looked down again with a smile. And Doctor?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re an idiot.”

The Doctor grinned. “Wouldn’t stand to be called anything else.”


	6. 24 Years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nardole and the Doctor have been at the university for 24 years now, and the Doctor is getting contemplative.

24 Years

The lecture hall seemed smaller today. Desks were pushed against the walls, taking up almost every square inch of the space. The Doctor only had about four feet in front of him before rows and rows of students, all staring at him with tired, bright eyes. A few had shadowy smiles on their faces. Most of them knew the Doctor well.

He smiled as he peered at his class, blinking slowly and taking it all in. The university had changed a lot since he’d first arrived. Half of his students were women. A few wore yamakas while others wore scarves. One boy in the front row donned six year old trousers that were two sizes too small. 

The Doctor turned to the chalkboard and started writing, hearing the pencils scribble behind him as he jotted down a few equations. The smell of chalk filled his nose, and his arm seemed to glide across the board as he racked his mind for some lesson to gather from this mess of numbers and factors. His smile grew. Oh, how he had come to love teaching.

“Mathematics are the building block of every science we study,” he started, setting the chalk down hard and turning back to the class. A few students still eagerly copied his writings in their own notebooks, their feet tapping restlessly against the tiled floor. “We can’t study physics or chemistry or biology or ergonomics without maths.”

The girl in the first seat of the front row chewed the tip of her pencil, then raised her hand slowly. The Doctor pointed at her and nodded encouragingly. “Sir?”

“Yes?”

“I think I’m in the wrong class.”

He peered over her schedule, noting a few students with knowing grins on their faces. He looked down at the girl with a nod. “You’re in the right place.”

Her eyebrows furrowed, and one of the boys in the front, a third year, gave her an understanding eye. The Doctor spun around and went back to the board.

“And maths explains waves, which travel through the air and give us music, which I’m guessing is what you were here to learn about, Natalie.”

The girl’s face blushed pink. The Doctor gave her a warm smile and didn’t drop his gaze until she looked up from her shoelaces. Her color returned soon after.

“It’s the nineteen fifites, yes?”

Newer students eyed him like he was a madman, while more experienced kids chuckled to themselves. He continued as if he hadn’t caused any kind of stir. “Oh, you’re in for a treat. The fifties is made of music. Made of waves, you might say. And these waves,” he tapped on the board with his chalk, breaking it almost in half in his enthusiasm. “These waves are explained by these equations. They let you hear everything. Waves travelling through the elements in the air. Sound waves can’t travel through a vacuum, like light can. So you and I have the special privilege of listening to music and feeling its vibrations. Astronauts can’t say that, unless they have a Walkman or a really good radio.”

The students knitted their brows at his words, and one student in the center of the room raised their hand. “Ugh, sir, what’s a Walk...Walkman?”

The Doctor’s face fell. “Oh...you’ll find out someday. Something to look forward to.”

He played it off with a coy smile and went back to discussing waves and, eventually, Elvis. When the bell rang and the students began packing up and filing out the door, the Doctor went back to the now-filled board and looked it over. It was a scribbled mess, but maybe he had made some sense in his rambles. None of the students had seemed to mind, anyway.

That evening, Nardole entered the office with the usual tray of tea and cakes. The Doctor was stood in front of the window, facing out, guitar strung around his shoulders. His fingers moved effortlessly over the strings as a melody sang through the large room. Nardole couldn’t help but just watch him for a moment. Something about the black velvet jacket, Stratocaster, and the endless nighttime sky free of light pollution looked like poetry.

When it seemed the Doctor hadn’t noticed his companion’s presence, Nardole cleared his throat and awkwardly fumbled for his cup. “I, er, brought you some tea. If you want it.”

The Doctor continued playing, his fingers strumming just a little lighter; a fraction slower. Nardole sat in his chair opposite his friend’s desk and wondered whether the Doctor had still not heard him. Then, quietly, the Timelord said, “Thank you, Nardole.”

Nardole sipped his tea, burning his mouth slightly and sending a small wave of mental swears at the dainty little cup. The Doctor played on for another minute, and then abruptly stopped, spun around, and set his guitar on the floor in one motion. He took his tea and turned back to the window almost instantly, staring out the window again. Nardole watched him for another moment before stirring his tea with a spoon, watching it go round and round intently.

“Is there, er, something you want to talk about?”

The Doctor was silent, his head turned up to the stars. The moon lit up his face with a bluish glow, contrasting sharply against the yellow tint from the office lights. Nardole hated when the Doctor got his own mood lighting. Frankly, the accent and the Doc Martens were enough. Throw in the guitar, and the man was a walking Hollywood movie.

“Nardole, do you know how long we’ve been here?”

He shrugged, shaking his head. “About...twenty or so years? I lost track, to be honest.”

The Doctor turned halfway back to his desk, running an eye over the calendar again. “Today is twenty four years.”

Nardole closed his eyes. Everything made sense now. The Doctor’s lips curled into a sad smile, and Nardole watched him closely, with care in his eyes. The Timelord took in a deep breath, and then let it out shakily, his smile growing infinitesimally. He turned back to the window and peered out, finally starting his tea. Nardole stood, unsure of what to say, but sure that he should say something.

“She’d be proud that you came here. And that you’ve stayed so long. Lord knows what she would say about Missy.”

The Doctor’s eyes widened. “There’s a thought. I don’t think I’d survive both of them at once.”

They shared a laugh, but sobered suddenly as the Doctor turned back to the stars above, taking another swig of tea. His shoulders relaxed against the window frame. 

“You miss it, don’t you?”

The Doctor’s eye flitted down. “You know I do.”

Nardole stole a glance to the TARDIS, sitting in the corner. She looked brighter, somehow; a deeper shade of blue. For a second, he almost considered...no.

Nardole folded his hands in front of him. “And you miss her.”

The Doctor looked back up at the dark sky, not saying a word. Nardole bit his bottom lip. “I’ll be in the TARDIS if you need me.”

The Doctor watched Nardole from the side of his eye, and only turned back to the window when he was sure the other man was in the blue box, doors shut. The stars reached out from the black carpet of space, and the moon sent whispers through the trees. The Doctor smiled. “I wish we could’ve had more time, Professor Song.”

The wind howled against the brick and mortar outside the window. From it, the Doctor could’ve sworn he heard a whisper, in a voice he knew very well. “So do, I, Professor Doctor.”

The weary professor took a sip of his warm tea and gazed out the window, dreaming of stars and planets and a woman who knew everything about him before he knew her name. There was something so sad, and so beautiful about their lives. And for once, the Doctor didn’t care about the contradiction of that statement.


	7. Doctor Who

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the Monday after November 23, 1963 and the only two topics of conversation are John F. Kennedy and this new science fiction show called 'Doctor Who'.

The halls were crowded with students ambling to class, voices low and hushed. Everyone was still reeling over the terrible tragedy that had passed just three days before in the United States, on November 22nd. But the headmaster had told them they had to ‘Carry on’, and so they did.

The Doctor hugged his books closer to his chest as he swerved out of the way of a door swinging open. Then he heard a word he’d not uttered himself in months; a word that filled him with joy and comfort, and for once, a bit of anxiety. That word, of course, was TARDIS, and it was uttered by a young boy sitting on the steps chatting with a few classmates. The Doctor stopped and listened to their conversation, pretending to watch the birds in the tree above.

“Time and Relative Dimension In Space. Where do you reckon they’ll end up? I guess Ian and Barbara are in for the ride now!”

One of the other students, a girl in the Doctor’s physics class, chimed in, “I don’t know. What do you think that shadow was?”

The third student said, “I guess we’ll have to see next week.”

As the students gathered their books and stood up, the Doctor finally approached them. “What were you all talking about?”

The girl, Jane, he now remembered, widened her eyes just slightly. The Doctor relaxed his muscles, which he now realized had been tense, and loosened his grip on his books, letting them fall nonchalantly to his side. Jane shrugged and said, “It’s this new program they showed on Saturday night. My little sister wanted to watch it, so my parents flipped it on. It was called Doctor Who. It was pretty good, actually. Gave us a break from everything going on, at least.”

The Doctor felt his hearts skip a beat as the students cheerily bid him goodbye and went off to their next class. The Doctor shook his head and made a beeline for his office. Thank God he didn't have any other classes today. He thought he was going to faint from fear and confusion.

“Nardole!”

The Doctor dropped his books heavily on his desk and went straight into the TARDIS, where Nardole was sitting in the flight seat watching the screen. He flipped it off as the Timelord entered, sitting up in his seat. “Need something?”

The Doctor looked at the black screen. “What were you watching?”

Nardole tweaked the buttons, but couldn’t find a proper signal. “For a minute, I found this new program they’ve got. I think it’s based on you, actually. They’ve got a TARDIS and everything.”

The Doctor whipped out his Sonic and pointed it at the screen, but it wouldn’t play. He hit the computer once with his palm before stuffing his screwdriver back in his pocket and looking at Nardole. “Was it called Doctor Who?”

Nardole’s brow raised. “I think so, yeah. You’ve heard of it then?”

But the Doctor was already halfway out the door. Nardole pondered following him, but dismissed the idea with a shake of the head. He turned back to the screen and pressed a few buttons, getting it to turn on in fewer than five seconds. He smirked to himself. “It’s probably better he doesn’t see this.”

The Doctor entered the Vault and found Missy sitting on the chair in front of the Telly he’d brought her a few weeks ago. Her legs were draped over the arm, but as he strode over, she lowered her feet to the floor and sat up straighter. “Isn’t it a bit early for a visit? You don’t have to teach those humans to walk or read or whatever it is you do?”

The Doctor’s eyes were locked on the screen, a fuzzy black and white image burning into his pupils. Unmistakably, in the center of the frame, was his first self. No actor could have possibly duplicated his look and his voice and even his mannerisms so perfectly. The Doctor was speechless. Missy watched him curiously, and then turned back to the Telly.

“They did do a pretty good job. You’ve gotten noticed around here, it seems.”

“A little too noticed,” the Doctor gritted, his eyes still unblinking. 

Suddenly, a voice entered the space; a voice he hadn’t heard in so, so long. It said just one word, but it sent daggers into the Doctor’s chest, right where his pounding hearts lie. ‘Grandfather!’

Tears marred the Doctor’s vision, but there was no doubt that the black and white figure in the Telly standing beside his duplicate was his granddaughter. Guilt and disbelief clouded the Doctor’s mind, and for a moment he completely forgot where he was or whom he was with. He approached the screen with an outstretched hand, a tear silently tracking down his cheek. Missy made no noise, she was so encaptured in her friend’s strange and uncharacteristic mood.

“Susan,” the Doctor said. His voice was hardly above a whisper. 

Just as abruptly as he had started toward the Telly, he stopped, blinking rapidly and swallowing hard. His hand wiped away the stray tears, and he turned from Missy quickly, taking a deep breath. Slowly, he started back toward the door. Missy leaned back in her chair and called out, “That was a short visit!”

The Doctor either didn’t hear her or didn’t have anything to say in response. Missy couldn’t decide which would be more odd. She went back to watching the screen with a small smile curling her lips. She was rather going to enjoy watching her old friend’s escapades.

Nardole was still in the TARDIS enjoying more Doctor Who when the Doctor strutted in, his long legs carrying him instantly to the panels beneath the Console. He dropped to his knees and seemed to open every hatch and every box that lay within the old ship. When the Doctor reached into the fifth panel, the one closest to Nardole, the cyborg finally grew worried.

“Doctor, what are you looking for?”

“A picture.”

The Doctor dig through a cardboard box filled with cat toys, scarves, and even a spare guitar. Nardole chuckled at the sight. Boy, how he loved Time Lord technology.

“Ah, there it is.”

The Doctor pulled up a small picture fixed in a dark frame. It was of a girl, young and mysterious. It was an old picture, by the look of it; black and white and just a bit fuzzy. Nardole furrowed his eyebrows. “Who’s that then?”

The Doctor left the space without a reply, dashing back into his office and slamming the door behind him. Nardole stood, but then sank back down again shaking his head. “Good conversation.”

He went back to watching the small TARDIS Telly and eventually brewed the usual evening tea for he and the Doctor. His friend’s strange attitude hadn’t left his mind for a second.

When Nardole next saw the Doctor, the man was sitting at his desk, feet propped up on its wooden surface, staring at the new picture sitting beside the one of River. Nardole set the tea and sugar down and then took his place across the table. He took a small sip, and then nodded to the Doctor’s cup. “Don’t let your tea get cold.”

The words slowly registered in the Doctor’s head. A moment later, he slowly took hold of his mug and dumped in five or six cubes of sugar. His eyes hardly left the picture of the girl. Nardole set his tea down with a clink and straightened himself. “Right, you’re acting strange.”

“Am I?”

The Doctor took a sip of his tea and then held it in both of his hands. His eyes had left the girl’s, but still seemed almost vacant. Nardole could’ve screamed, but he chose a gentler approach. 

“Who's that in the picture? I don’t think I’ve seen her before.”

The Doctor finally seemed to wake from his trance, dropping his legs to the floor and glancing up at Nardole. “No, you wouldn’t have. She’s my granddaughter.”

Nardole nearly dribbled tea out of his mouth, his jaw dropped so quickly. “You never told me you had a granddaughter!”

The Doctor shrugged. “It never came up.”

Nardole smiled, shaking his head. A million questions and chastises came into his head, but he cast most of them away. “What’s her name?”

“Susan,” the Doctor said simply, his lips turning up in a proud smile. “She and I left Gallifrey together. We travelled for a bit.”

Nardole silently wondered where Susan ended up, but was much too afraid of the answer to ask. The Doctor answered for him, though, a moment later. “She married a man called David. I think they were happy together.”

Nardole smiled at the happy ending, but the Doctor seemed to grow sadder, his eyes inflating and mouth twitching down. “I had to leave her. But maybe it was too soon. I’ve always wondered if I did the right thing.”

Nardole watched his friend’s eyes go vacant again, this time staring at the wooden swirls on the desk. Leaning forward, Nardole set his cup down again. “I’m sure you did. And I’m sure they’re very happy together. They don’t have to put up with you anymore, anyway.”

The Doctor smiled at that, and brought his tea up to his mouth. “That’s true. I think I’m worth the trouble, though, aren’t I?”

Nardole smirked and turned down to his mug. “Definitely, sir.”

The Doctor took a big swig of his tea and looked down at the pictures on his desk. His wife. His granddaughter. His family. Even if they caused him much pain, the Doctor considered himself a very lucky man.


	8. Starman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David Bowie comes to perform at the University, making a total fanboy of the Doctor.

Starman

If Nardole didn’t know better, he’d say the Doctor was bouncing down the halls, practically skipping. But he’d been with the Doctor for a long time now, and so he knew that he must be seeing things. The Doctor didn’t skip. He especially didn’t skip down the hallways of a crowded school, with a goofy grin on his face. No, Nardole’s friend was more apt to go around with his thick eyebrows threatening the young student, a steely look in his eye. If the Doctor was bouncing down the halls like he was, then something had to be very, very wrong. That, or there was a side to the Doctor Nardole had never seen. Both options were equally terrifying to Nardole.

“Sir, are you alright?”

The Doctor turned to him, his grin still wide and toothy. “David Bowie is having a concert here tonight.”

Nardole rolled his eyes. Of course; the one thing that could make the big bad Timelord act like a fanboying teenager was a good Bowie concert. A smile curled the cyborg’s lips. “Course. I forgot about that. You’ve got tickets, right?”

“No, sadly they were sold out,” the Doctor said, reaching into his jacket with a smirk. He pulled out the psychic paper, on which was scribbled: Two Adults. Wednesday, March 1st, 1972. VIP Access. “But I did manage to find this in an old coat.”

Nardole shook his head. “Someday you’re going to get in trouble for sneaking into places all the time, you know that?”

The Doctor stuffed the paper back into his pocket. “Hasn’t happened so far.”

Nardole pointed an accusing finger. “That is a complete lie. I can see it in your eyes.”

The Doctor fixed his lapels and cracked his neck. “Nardole?” 

“Yes sir?”

“I’ve got a class to get to.”

“But-”

“I’ll see you at the concert.”

The Doctor walked off, casting one last twinkling grin at an open-mouthed Nardole, who merely waved him goodbye with a small smile of his own. 

 

Nardole found the Doctor standing at the entrance of the large lawn, where the concert was being held. It wasn’t half freezing, it still technically being winter, and Nardole was about to walk back to the office when he caught the Timelord’s eye. He looked nervous. As Nardole approached, he realized that the Doctor was carrying his guitar case in a tightly clenched hand. 

“What are you holding that for?”

The Doctor glanced at his case, and then at the crowd of students filing onto the grass. All of them were wearing puffy coats, but the Doctor still just had his jacket-over-hoodie combo, like always. Nardole could see the breath leaving the Timelord’s chattering lips as he spoke. “I, er, thought I might, er…”

Nardole gave him an encouraging smile. It wasn’t often that the Timelord was tongue-tied. “Are you anxious about something?”

The Doctor looked down at his shoes, and then back at the stage in the distance. A small light show was beginning. “I wanted to ask him if he could...well, if he’s not busy afterward, I’d like him to sign my guitar, if he’s okay with it, I mean…”

“You want David Bowie’s autograph?”

The Doctor gave Nardole a wide-eyed stare. “Yeah. You don’t think he’d mind, right?”

Nardole clapped the professor on the shoulder and led him through the gate, making sure they flashed their psychic paper at the guard as they entered. “Doctor, you meet famous people all the time. What’s different about this time?”

“I don’t know,” the Doctor said. “I’ve been on Earth too long. I’m becoming more adapted, I suppose. Feeling more human. More ordinary.”

Nardole chuckled. “Well, you’ll never be that.”

The Doctor smiled, loosening up as they made their way to the VIP section near the front of the stage. When the light show faded away and the crowd started clapping and hollering, the Doctor and Nardole turned their heads instantly to the left wing of the stage. The Doctor’s jaw dropped. “Ziggy Stardust.”

Emerging from the fog and the dancing lights came a figure as brilliant and as alien as the Doctor. He had bright red hair and dark eyeliner, and his clothes were somehow otherworldly, though they would’ve also belonged somewhere in Soho or New York. 

The Doctor jumped out of his reverie as a drumbeat hit loudly. Then David Bowie began singing, and chills ran up and down his arms. Almost instantly, a weight lifted from his chest and he felt himself transported. Perhaps Missy had slipped a Vortex Manipulator on his arm the last time he was in the Vault? No; the Doctor looked around and found himself on the same grassy lawn where he sometimes brought his students for outdoor classes. It all felt so much different, though. Tingles raced up his spine as the song carried on. Then, something truly remarkable happened.

As the Doctor stared, stupefied, lost in the music and the lights and the fog, somewhere in the back of his mind he heard a familiar voice say, “Hey, you even brought your own guitar! Do you want to join me up here?”

Nardole nudged his arm, hard, his jaw open almost to his chest. The Doctor cast him a glare, then turned upward and almost fainted. David was staring right at him, holding out his hand. The Doctor was stunned, unable to move. Then Bowie smiled, and said, “Come on, the stage is big enough for both of us.”

The Doctor took the offered hand, his own shaking terribly, and got up onto the stage. He felt a million eyes on him, and heard his students cheering him on. Then, he fumbled his guitar case open and brought the strap over his shoulder. He looked out at the audience, students and professors clapping and smiling and singing. Then he looked at David Bowie, who grinned widely at him. “Do you know Starman?”

The Doctor smiled back, nodding his head in fervent agreement. “Of course. That’s my favorite. You’re my favorite.”

Nardole couldn’t believe his eyes or his ears. Though he’d seen many wonderful things with the Doctor, this truly was one of the best. The Doctor’s hands glided over the frets, playing the lead guitar part, as David began singing. Nardole, close as he was, even saw a tear or two run down the Timelord’s cheek as he performed with his idol. 

The Doctor didn’t think he’d smiled this much in years. For so long, he’d been living as a human here at this university. And now he was finally up on stage with the human he related to most of all, the human that was other worldly, but who had so much humanity inside. 

As the song came to an end, the Doctor stammered a thank you, and then turned to leave the stage. But David wasn’t about to let him go yet. Instead, he wrapped an arm around the Doctor’s shoulder, and asked the audience to give him one last round of applause. They gave him a standing ovation instead. 

 

Nardole struggled through the passageways of the underground tunnel where they kept the Vault with three cups of tea on a tray in his hands. It was bad enough that the Doctor had gone all the way down here at this time of night, but asking for tea was a bit more than Nardole was willing to do. All he wanted was to drop into bed after the busy and emotional night they’d had. Unfortunately, a certain needy Timelord didn’t require half the sleep that Nardole did, so bringing tea to the Vault at 3 A.M. it was.

As he approached the complicated door, though, Nardole’s frustration dissipated. He could definitely hear a guitar, and, as he unlocked the system, he also heard singing. It was another Bowie song, one they hadn’t heard earlier.

"We could steal time, just for one day. We can be heroes, forever and ever. What d’you say?”

Nardole had to hand it to the Doctor, he really knew how to pick a playlist for every occasion. As he entered bearing the tea and biscuits, he found Missy and the Doctor on the platform, he in his shades playing his guitar roughly, and she holding the microphone. She held it up for them both as they shouted out the chorus. Nardole kept his footsteps quiet. He didn’t think they’d even noticed him yet, caught up as they were in their duet. As he set the tray down, though, the Doctor finished off a riff and jumped down from the platform. He was still grinning when he raised the mug to his lips. “What do you think Nardole?”

“You’d better not let the humans hear you. That song doesn’t come out for another five years.”

Missy rolled her eyes as she, too, picked up one of the cups of tea. “Has he been making you learn about Bowie, too? It’s all he’s talking about lately.”

Nardole took a sip of his own tea as the Doctor swallowed his. “Sometimes,” the Doctor said, “a bit of music can do a lot of good. The right song, at the right time. It can change lives.”

Missy drank her whole cup in one big swig. “I know exactly what you’re doing. Plans don’t work if they’re transparent. You of all people should know that.”

The Doctor lifted his shades to the top of his head and gave his tea a smile. “You of all people should know that music is never transparent.”

Nardole tilted his head in admiration, then finished his tea. “Well, I’m going to bed. You two carry on with your rock concert.”

The Doctor let his shades drop back over his eyes, then jumped back onto the platform “stage” and grabbed up his guitar. “Under Pressure. You wanna be Bowie or Freddy Mercury?”

Missy took the microphone in her hand and looked at him pointedly. “Who am I always? I am a queen, after all.”

The Doctor shook his head as he started the opening tune. “That was one day. Hardly counts.”

“I was queen of Gallifrey for a day. But queen of evil? Always.”

The Doctor shook his head. “Maybe not forever.”

The gave each other one last knowing look before bursting into the song together and becoming lost in the music again, playing til the sun came up and the class bell chimed.


	9. Stir Crazy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor is getting restless after staying on Earth for so long.

Stir Crazy

The Doctor’s boot tapped against the floor of his office in a pounding rhythm faster even than his two hearts. His eyes were hardly blinking, chin resting on his folded hands, as he stared blankly at the wall opposite. The only sound in the room other than the rapping of his boot was the tick of the clock, clicking in an achingly slow, endless pattern. The click of the second hand moving around and around felt like it was moving inside his head rather than on the wall in front of him. 

Five minutes of this torturous sameness drove the Doctor to stand suddenly beside his desk and turn to the TARDIS. It was still sat in the corner, like always, it's blue wood faded and dusty from many years without use or attention. For a second, the Doctor glanced anxiously at the door, biting his lip. He hadn’t seen Nardole in a while. The cyborg could come back at any time. Besides, the Doctor had classes to teach; young minds to open. He couldn’t just leave.

Ah, but it was a time machine. Wasn’t that what he always told his companions? He could be back before the next class bell. Just a quick flight to the moon, that’s all he needed. Then he’d take his place back at the university and be a totally unassuming human professor for a while. 

The Doctor was opening the TARDIS door before he’d really decided whether he was going or not. With an enthusiastic smile, he shoved through the entranceway and dashed toward the Console. Only then did he noticed that the lights had been on when he’d turned them off yesterday, and that Nardole was sitting in the flight chair leafing through War and Peace.

“You’ve got double Physics in half an hour.”

The Doctor felt color flush to his cheeks. He watched the Time Rotor churn up and down, his ship calling to him, begging to be flown to Venus or Mars or even Raxacoricofallapatorius. 

“You’re not my mother,” the Doctor replied darkly.

Nardole shut his book and stood slowly, swapping out his reading glasses with his usual ones. “You made me swear an oath too, remember? I’m just doing what you told me. Keeping you on Earth, supposedly guarding the vault.”

The Doctor waved him off, going to the computer. “Ah, the vault will be fine. I won’t be gone long, I promise.”

Nardole came beside him. “What’s gotten into you today? You seemed fine yesterday. Did something happen?”

The Doctor took in a breath, and then turned sharply to Nardole. “It’s a Timelord thing. If we don’t time travel for too long, bad things happen.”

Nardole squinted at him. “What kinds of ‘bad things’?”

The Doctor stammered for a moment, searching for words. “Well, you see, our, er, Timelordy...ness requires us to time travel at least once every, ugh, twenty years or we could, er, die.”

Nardole was not impressed. “How stupid do you think I am?”

“Do you want me to put a number on it?”

Nardole grabbed the Doctor by the arm and led him out of the TARDIS. “Right, you get to your class before I use that authorization River gave me.”

“What authorization is that?”

Nardole stood in the TARDIS doorway as the Doctor tripped over himself into his office, eyeing him curiously. Nardole took the door handle firmly in his clenched hand. “She said if I need to, I can kick your arse.”

Nardole slammed the door shut and locked it instantly. The Doctor tried to pick it for a moment, but the TARDIS zapped his hand as soon as it made contact with the lock. And so, instead of travelling to the moon, the Doctor wearily picked up his supply bag and sauntered out of his office to get to double physics before the bell rang. 

The sun was just beginning to set as Nardole trekked up the steps toward the office, ready for the usual tea and scone session with the Doctor. Maybe the stubborn Timelord would finally tell him what happened earlier, and why he had been so hell bent on running away. 

As Nardole came to the top of the staircase, he heard a groaning, wheezing sound that made his heart drop into his stomach. “Oh no, you bloody…”

He opened the door and found the last remnants of the TARDIS fading from the air. With a frown, Nardole found a note on the Doctor’s desk scribbled in messy handwriting on a ripped piece of parchment, which read: 

Back in five minutes.   
Definitely before 18:00.   
\- The Doctor

But 18:00 came and went without any sign of the Doctor or the TARDIS. In fact, four more hours passed without any hint of the Doctor’s whereabouts. Nardole couldn’t help feeling a little worried, cross as he was, as he paced back and forth. Every now and then he’d sit and try reading or watching telly, but he couldn’t focus on anything. 

As night began to really encroach and the university went silent, everyone fast asleep, Nardole became truly anxious. Unable to stop fidgeting and biting his nails, he considered going down to the vault and seeing if Missy could help him find her. He’d been there earlier in the day, to make sure the Doctor hadn’t just jaunted down there for a quick trip. 

But before he could start the long journey across campus to their secret little hideaway, he heard the groaning of the TARDIS again, this time stunted. If Nardole didn’t know better, he’d say it sounded ill. The box began appearing in the corner, slowly fading into existence, and Nardole instantly knew it looked worse for wear. The blue that had been merely dusty earlier was now covered in a layer of ash. Some of the wood was splintered off, and the light on top was flickering on and off, its bulb dying.

One of the doors opened, and heavy smoke filtered out, filling the office quickly with soot. Nardole covered his mouth and thanked the gods the Doctor had taken out the fire detector a long time ago, after some experiment gone wrong. This would’ve been a hell of a thing to explain to the university.

The Doctor practically fell out of the TARDIS, a ragged cloth held tightly to his face as he coughed into it. Nardole’s anger dissipated with one look at the man. He was covered in almost as much ash and dust as the TARDIS, his hair sticking up in places and matted in others. Worst was the wheezing breaths coming out of his choking lungs. He sounded almost the same as his ship.

Nardole shut the TARDIS door and helped the Doctor to his chair, easing him down slowly. “What happened?”

The Doctor lowered the cloth and tried to respond, but he could hardly find his voice. “Ship...exploded,” he gasped. “Couldn’t get out before-”

A coughing fit seized him and Nardole touched a hand to his arm until it was over. When it was, the Doctor looked up at Nardole with red, watery eyes. “‘M sorry Nardole,” he coughed again, and breathed in a short gasp of air. 

Nardole made a choice then, one he knew he wouldn’t live to regret, unlike most of his past choices.

“Stay here. I’ll be right back, alright?”

The Doctor nodded limply, still struggling to breath properly, and Nardole ran out the door and down the hall. Silently, he picked the lock of the infirmary, grabbed a few things he swore into the dark air that he’d return, maybe. Then he returned just as quickly with it all hugged in his arms. The Doctor looked as impressed as an oxygen deprived Timelord with ash and messy hair can look.

Nardole first wrapped a blanket around the Doctor, who furrowed his eyebrows at him. Then, he set two thermoses on the desk and handed the Doctor an oxygen mask. “Hold it to your face and you should be able to breath better. I think. It’s what the package said, anyway. Worth a try.”

The Doctor followed his instructions, too tired to argue, and breathed in pure oxygen for the first time in what felt like days. Air never tasted so sweet. Nardole sat opposite him and took a long swig from his thermos. Then they simply sat, for a long time, in complete silence. Every now and then, the Doctor would set the mask down and take a sip of his tea, then take in some more of the clean air. Nardole watched him carefully, unsure of what to say or what, even, he himself was thinking. 

Deep into the night, when the Doctor had recovered enough to breathe easily on his own but not enough to be too proud to hug the blanket around his shoulders, he spoke again. 

“I should’ve listened. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize.” The Doctor’s eyes widened and Nardole couldn’t remember why he’d even been so angry with him. “I’m just glad you’re alright. It could’ve been much worse.”

The Doctor looked down at himself, wrapped in a blanket and still covered in soot from the head down. Nardole muttered something, but the Doctor was too lost in thought to hear. He perked his head up at the younger man. “What did you say?”

Nardole turned pink. “I was just saying,” Nardole stammered, “that’s probably why I was so cross. I didn’t want you to get stuck somewhere or hurt and I wouldn’t know what happened.”

The Doctor scratched his head awkwardly. “You can always come with me.”

Nardole chuckled. “Not my cup of tea, thanks.” He looked the Doctor up and down again. “Just stay safe, alright? Not just for your oath. For me. And Missy. And everyone else here. You have students and a job.”

“I know.”

“You matter to people. You can’t take that for granted.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” Nardole looked at the Doctor pointedly.

“I won’t go anywhere. Definitely not alone; that was stupid, it always is. I’ll be good.”

Nardole smiled. “Good. Glad we’re clear. I don’t want to spend another night worrying you won’t come back.”

Nardole’s face fell, pink cheeks turning red. The Doctor smiled coyly. “You were up all night worrying?”

“Well, you know, not...I was cross. And I still am. And I can still kick your arse, so watch it!”

The Doctor put his hands up in surrender, and Nardole stormed out with one last embarrassed glare. The Doctor looked down at the pictures of River and Susan on his desk and pulled the blanket tighter around himself. “I won’t leave again.” He closed his eyes. “I promise.”


	10. How To Be Good

How to be Good

This was stupid. This felt stupid. This just looked stupid. The Doctor knew he was an idiot, but this was taking it too far. 

On the chalkboard he’d brought down to the Vault, he’d written ‘How To Be Good’. He’d even set up a student desk he’d nicked from one of the classrooms, fit with a notebook and pen. But he felt like an idiot. Missy would laugh her head off, and then she’d throw his own chalk at him. The Doctor took a deep breath and adjusted his jacket. 

“She better not break my chalk; I’m running out and I need some for my physics lecture.”

Nardole nudged his arm. “Just thirty minutes. Then you can both go brood.”

The Doctor shot his companion a quick glare. “I don’t brood. Anyway, this is your fault.”

“You mean my ‘idea’? Nothing’s actually gone wrong yet, you know.” Nardole shifted his weight to his other foot. “I actually like this idea.”

They both fell into an expectant silence as Missy entered from the adjoining bedroom. Surprisingly, she did not burst out laughing, nor did she leave without a word. Instead, she approached, slowly, with a smile. The Doctor felt nerves dance up his back. He knew this was a stupid plan from the moment Nardole had mentioned it. Why he had gone through with it was a mystery.

“Are we having lessons now, Doctor? I hope baldy isn’t staying. I might accidentally become the class bully.”

Missy lurked around the room like a cat waiting for the right moment to attack. The Doctor watched her with a wary eye. “Nardole is staying.”

Missy rolled her eyes and sank into the chair in front of the desk. “Fine. What’s my lesson?”

The Doctor went to the blackboard, turning his back on Missy. The hairs on his neck were standing up. What was wrong with him? Why was he so anxious in front of her? Why did he feel so small?

Nardole’s hand suddenly touched his back and the Doctor jumped. He hadn’t done that in a while. He had been getting used to touchy-feely people. What was it about Missy that made him so different from who he knew he really was?

“Sir, are we going to start? Remember what we practiced?”

The Doctor nodded, but really all he wanted was to teleport out of there, go back to his office or his room where he didn’t feel like a complete idiot. Where he was confident and knew he could actually make some kind of a change. With Missy, change was not something that happened very often. 

An idea came to him then, and he turned around in full professor mode.

“The first rule to being good is embracing change. The world changes and everyone in it changes, too. Situations change. Ideas change. You can’t become stuck in the past, or stuck with the old way of doing things. You have to be able to move on and grow and learn from the people around you.”

Missy watched the Doctor pace back and forth with a smirk curling her lips. As he passed her once more, she couldn’t help but stick her foot out. He saw it coming and stepped over her, but not without throwing a glare in her general direction. Nardole stood off to the side unsure of what to say.

“Change is the universe’s constant,” the Doctor continued. “Evolution, growth, it’s how species survive and it’s how we progress.”

“Or regress.”

The Doctor looked at Missy and felt his voice and his thoughts waver, just for a moment. Then he pressed on. 

“Your first assignment: think of something that changed and grew better for it, or something that didn’t change and suffered because of it.”

Missy’s arms were crossed, but as the Doctor finished explaining her homework, she didn’t budge to try and pick up a pencil or take any notes. The Doctor eyed her curiously.

“Thinking?”

Missy shook her head. “I don’t need to. I already have something in mind.”

The Doctor glanced at his shoes for a second, almost afraid to ask. Then he picked his head up and, voice smaller than usual, asked “Do you want to share it?”

Missy rolled her neck, her eyes piercing the Doctor’s. “You.”

He thought about her answer for a moment, then smiled. “Alright. And how have I changed?”

Her smirk grew. “You haven’t.” The Doctor’s face fell. “You’re the same little child I knew on Gallifrey all those years ago.”

The Doctor stood pensively for a moment, the weight of Missy’s words sinking into his chest. “And how is that?”

Missy sat up straighter. “You think you’re such a rebel, but you don’t break enough rules to get into any real trouble. You always just want to run away, and it’s still for the same reason. You’re still terrified. I still don’t know what you’re so scared of. You’ve probably got a poetic answer for that, though, don’t you Doctor?”

The Doctor tried to find words to respond with, but his voice wouldn’t come out any more. Nardole took a step forward. “Oi! We don’t have to be here, you know? This is a favor. A favor that you asked for, I might add.”

Missy leaned back in her chair. “I asked for you to make me good, not prop me up in a student desk and lecture at me. You know how much I hated the Academy, Doctor.”

Nardole began another argument, but the Doctor sank back, still pondering over Missy’s statements. Was it true? Had he really not changed since Gallifrey? Was he the same child who ran away all those years ago?

“Sir? Sir! She’s just trying to wind you up, don’t mind her.”

The Doctor shook his head, feeling a strange fire rising within him. Suddenly he burst forward, stopping just in front of Missy’s desk. 

“What is it that you want? You say you want me to teach you, but you refuse to learn. I know you can be good. I know that you want to be good. But why do you keep trying to provoke me when I’m try to help you?”

Missy’s smile faltered. “I ask myself that same question every day.”

They stared at each other for a moment, and then the Doctor relaxed tense shoulders and looked at the floor. “We’re not good for each other.”

Missy let the silence after his statement ring through the air. And then she cleared her throat. “Why don’t you ever give up on me then?”

The Doctor’s lips curled into a small smile. “Remember how you said you still see the child from Gallifrey in me?” They met eyes. “I still see you as the only person who ever understood me. My friend from the Academy.”

Missy chuckled. “I thought you said being good was about change or something like that.”

The Doctor raised his eyebrows. “Oh, you were listening then? Anyway, who ever said I was good?”

“Oh, don’t start with that again.” Missy got to her feet and sighed, rubbing some dirt off of the Doctor’s shoulders. “We just go round and round, don’t we? We can never get past our Gallifrey days, as fast as we both run.”

Nardole, still standing behind them, watching in awe, finally cleared his throat. “I, er, I think you have a class starting soon, Doctor.”

The Doctor blinked a few times, and turned his head halfway toward Nardole. “Right.” He met the other man’s eyes. “Thank you, Nardole.”

They shared a smile, and then the Doctor turned to Missy one last time. In her place stood a child, young and scared but full of rebellious fire, egging him on. 

As the Doctor made his way out of the vault and toward his classroom, he knew that he would never truly leave his past behind him. But, for once, he was ready to take a stand, and stop running so quickly away from it. Maybe what Missy needed was a hand to hold; someone to stand beside her. Perhaps next time he came to the vault, he would talk with her, and not to her. Maybe all she needed was to have her old friend back.


	11. Millennium Malfunction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor celebrates New Year's at the turn of the century and millennium.

One thing the Doctor had learned in his time at St. Luke’s University was that humans loved to celebrate. Whether it was a birthday, a graduation, or even just a Tuesday morning before the birds were awake, students and professors alike would be ready for a party; loud music, small talk, and all. Just once the Doctor joined them, when time and a good mood aligned just right and the Doctor’s legs actually managed to carry him all the way to the large hall where the humans always had their celebrations. It was New Year’s Eve; the last day of the 20th century and the first millennium both. He figured it was time to make an appearance at one of the humans’ parties. End the millennium well.

And so, at eight O’Clock in the evening, the Doctor stood by the wall, an old, favorite red velvet suit on and a drink in his hand. One moment and a large sip later, the drink was on the closest table, and the Doctor was leaned over a chair coughing. Nardole came over from the dance floor grinning and clapped him on the back.

“I see you’ve tried the tequila.”

The Doctor coughed once more and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “We don’t have a lot of alcohol on Gallifrey.”

Nardole muttered, “I can tell.” He looked over the Timelord and nudged his arm. “Do you want me to get you some punch? Or maybe just some water?”

The Doctor nodded. “Yes. Water sounds good. Thank you.”

Nardole smiled at the improved manners and went off to find the drinks table, leaving the Doctor stood awkwardly against the wall again. His eyes darted around the busy room, taking in all of the lights and sounds and colors. It was too much almost instantly and he turned back to the floor. Hopefully the humans would learn to dress a little better in the next millennium. From what he’d witnessed of human fashion over the past few decades, the Doctor seriously doubted it.

“You’re the mysterious Doctor, right?”

The Doctor’s head perked up at the new voice and he found a woman standing in front of him, a professor of English or History he’d passed a few times on his way to class. She was wearing a dress redder than her hair and took a big gulp of her drink without even wincing. The Doctor blinked and cocked his head to the side.   
“That would be me.”

She set her drink on the table and suddenly took his hand in her own. He felt his other fist clench, legs stiffening and back straightening against the wall. She began walking backwards and he was forced to follow.

“Come dance with me. I haven’t seen you move from this spot all night.”

The Doctor felt his palm getting sweaty under her hand, and the music felt like it was pounding through his skull as they got closer to the sound system. His legs moved reluctantly through the students, all moving too much and much too close. It was everything in his power not to break away from her grasp and run. 

She put her other hand on his upper arm and finally he couldn’t take it anymore. He backed away, just a few inches, but she noticed. He burst into stammered apologies. “I’m sorry, I, er, you’re probably lovely, I just, er,” the woman held him tighter and the Doctor jumped back, stumbling into someone behind him, who spilled their drink. He heard Nardole squeak in his high pitch voice and closed his eyes tightly. 'This is why I don’t go to parties', the Doctor thought.

The Doctor opened his eyes and found the woman, Nardole, and two disgruntled strangers staring at him. The music seemed even louder and the bodies even closer. Instantly he shook his head and apologized, dashing back toward one of the empty tables in the distance. 

Nardole came to the woman, watching the Doctor disappear with an unreadable expression. “His wife died...it was sort of recent. For him, anyway.”

The woman’s eyes widened. “Oh, I had no idea.”

“Well, he doesn’t talk much. Believe me, it’s infuriating.” He turned to the woman. “I’ll go check on him. You can probably find someone more human, er, suited around here.”

The woman furrowed her eyebrow for a moment, and then went back into the crowd. Nardole looked down at his arm, where wine stained his jacket, and headed toward the Doctor, who was sat at an empty table with his eyes closed.  
Nardole sank into the chair beside the Doctor and stayed silent for a moment, letting the Doctor have a chance to explain himself, which he always did, eventually. This time the explanation came with eyes still closed and voice gravely.

“Time Lords are sensitive to lights and sounds.”

“And touch?” Nardole added, quirking an eyebrow. The Doctor leaned his head back.

“That’s just this body. Usually I’m fine, but added to everything else…”

“Right.”

They sat in silence for another minute before Nardole looked down at his arm. It hadn’t moved since the wine spilled on it.

“Sir? I think I’m going to need some repairs.”  
The Doctor finally opened his eyes and examined Nardole’s arm, tilting it this way and that before dropping it onto the cyborg’s lap. “Just needs a couple screws changed. We can go back to the office if you aren’t too caught up in the party.”

Nardole chuckled. “I think you’re office sounds great.”

As soon as they were out of the crowded hall, the Doctor felt immensely better. His head stopped pounding as they made their way down the steps, and by the time they were unlocking the office door, his skin had stopped tingling, hands steady as they searched for his key and turned it in the lock. Nardole sat at the desk holding his arm and the Doctor went into the TARDIS to get some supplies. It said a lot that Nardole didn’t even feel nervous about letting him in there anymore. 

The Doctor sat on the opposite side of the desk and took Nardole’s arm in his hands, then started fiddling with the mechanisms he’d installed so long ago. Nardole couldn’t stand watching the Doctor’s work, so instead he looked at the Timelord himself. He was concentrating so hard, movements fast and confident. It was hard to believe he’d been a stumbling, stammering mess just twenty minutes before. 

That was the Doctor, though. Even with Daleks on his heels and a gun to his head, if he had work to distract himself with, he could be calm as an autumn evening. Nardole smiled inadvertently and, without looking up, the Doctor asked, “What is it?”

“I know you better than you know yourself, I think.”

“Maybe you do.” The Doctor reached for another tool, and Nardole eyed him curiously before shaking his head and turning to the window. His smile widened. 

“They’re starting the fireworks display. It must be after midnight. Happy New Year, sir.”

The Doctor finished up his work and turned to the window himself as Nardole looked over his fixed arm. The Timelord smiled softly. “Happy New Year, Nardole."

Nardole was still testing his arm, moving it down and then horizontally, then clenching his fist. The Doctor rolled his chair back to the desk.

“That should be a little more waterproof. But no swimming for over seven hours.”

“I wouldn’t know how, anyway. Never had a lesson.”

The Doctor nodded. “Then no swimming at all. I don’t want to have to save you. It’s tedious.”

Nardole chuckled, and then looked back out the window. The Doctor followed his gaze, and they both watched the red and blue explosions in the sky, quiet enough from here that neither of them jumped or felt it in their head too loud.

“Doctor, is this going to be a good millennium?”

The Doctor sighed and sank deeper into his chair. “That depends, Nardole. There are a lot of points in flux. So either this will be the millennium that the humans finally learn to live together peacefully, expanding their technology into the stars, or...it’ll be the last few years of the human race.”

Nardole made a face. “Quite a millennium to be a human.”

The Doctor smiled, remembering all of the companions that past versions of himself would soon meet. Rose, Martha, Donna, Amy, Rory...that one he couldn’t place with a face. Then he turned up to the sky again, as red smoke billowed away, revealing numerous stars in the distance. “Quite a millennium to be a human.”


	13. A Christmas Tradition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is Christmas 2005, and the Doctor is trying to celebrate Christmas while elsewhere a version of him fights regeneration illness and the Sycorax

As Nardole made his rounds across the university yard, hidden behind two scarves and a woolen hat, he couldn’t help but notice the strange quiet that had befallen the entire campus. It was Christmas holiday, and, though he’d been through this yearly for over seven decades now, it was still odd to see the grounds so quiet and still just a day or two after hordes of students had been laughing along this same path. The snow crunched beneath his feet, and the ice nearly toppled him over. He stayed up only by sheer force of will; he had an important package hugged in his arms, and he was not going to deliver it crumpled and broken. 

The warm air hit his face like a summer breeze as he entered the main school building. Silently, he thanked his lucky stars humans had invented some quality heaters over the past few decades. At the beginning of the university stay, Nardole had only the TARDIS to huddle in for warmth in these cold Bristol winters. Even that old ship was always freezing, thanks to the Doctor’s lower body temperature and weird love of the cold.

Nardole reached the top of the creaky, familiar staircase and rapped on the Doctor’s office door, slipping the package behind his back. From the other side of the door, he heard a chest cough. His eyebrow furrowed in concern.

“Sir?”

“Come in,” the Doctor rasped, his voice hoarse, if Nardole wasn’t mistaken. 

The cyborg entered the room and looked over the form of the Doctor, wearing at least four layers that he could see and drinking a large thermos of tea. Nardole sat across him and set the package on the floor beside his foot, then watched the Doctor for another moment. 

“Sir, are you ill?”

The Doctor gave Nardole a look under heavy lids and thick eyebrows, but closed his eyes suddenly as he brought a hand to his forehead, leaning on the desk.

“‘M fine.”

“You don’t look fine to me.”

The Doctor lowered his hand. “I’m not...ill, per say. It’s just a feeling.”

“Timelord thing?”

“Definitely.”

Nardole left the conversation at that, sensing the Doctor’s grumpiness from across the wide table. Instead, he pulled up the package he’d brought and set it on the wooden table with a smile. The Doctor eyed it mysteriously. Nardole pushed the long box toward him.

“Happy Christmas.”

The Doctor looked up at him and quirked an eyebrow, and then sat up straighter, seeming rejuvenated. He tore into the package excitedly, and the paper split away to reveal a cylindrical tube with two simple buttons. Nardole gestured toward them restlessly. “Go on; press the ‘On’ switch.”

The Doctor pressed the button and the office ceiling transformed into an array of stars and nebula. Neither of them could hold in their wide, childlike smiles.

Nardole sat at the edge of his seat and looked up at the starred ceiling proudly. “I tweaked a few of the settings to make it a bit more impressive.”

“Thank you.”

Nardole grinned at the earnest gratitude and grabbed up the leftover wrapping paper. “You can’t go to the stars right now, so I brought them to you.”

The Doctor’s eyes darted across the ceiling once more before he turned down and sneezed loudly into his sleeve. Nardole furrowed his eyebrows.

“Are you sure you're alright? You’re usually never ill.”

The Doctor silently pulled out his phone and brought up the News app, then turned it to face Nardole. He was still in the midst of a sneezing and coughing fit, interspersed with a pained crease in his forehead which revealed a headache.

Nardole read the top headline, describing an alien ship hovering above London.

“Sir, shouldn’t we be helping?”

The Doctor shook his head fervently. “I am. A past version of me. He’s recently regenerated and-”

He was cut off by yet another sneeze. Nardole finished for him, “That’s affecting you, too. Making you ill.”

“We’re too close. Some of his symptoms are affecting me. Ergo, regeneration sickness years after the fact.”

Nardole cringed as the Doctor squeezed his eyes against the headache above his frustrated eyebrows. “Maybe you should go to bed.”

The Doctor opened his eyes and squinted at Nardole. “I don’t-”

“I know, Timelords don’t need sleep. They’ve got a superior biology.” Nardole said all of this in a mocking voice, but then he turned seriously toward the Doctor. “At least stop sitting here wearing fifty layers. Go to your room and turn the heat up.”

The Doctor turned to down to the desk. “I can’t. I have something to do.”

“What do you have to do at Christmas?”

They met eyes and Nardole knew immediately wjat the Doctor was thinking. “Seriously? We have to go all the way down there on our holiday?”

The Doctor coughed and pulled out two presents from a desk drawer. Nardole groaned. “I wish you’d stop this. She’s not good yet; she might still be plotting against you. You have no idea what she’s thinking.”

The Doctor got slowly to his feet. “No, I don’t. But I think I can still get through to her.”

“Look me in the eye and say that again.”

The Doctor looked Nardole in the eye, and then turned away. “I at least have to try.”

The Doctor went out the door, and, reluctantly, Nardole followed after him.

Missy greeted them in the vault in the usual way; a slight turn in their general direction and a “Look what the cat dragged in” with her Scottish burr muddling the words together. Nardole rolled his eyes and tightened his scarf. It was even colder down here than it was in the snow.

“Hello Missy,” the Doctor started, kind as ever. Nardole still couldn’t understand why he spoke to her in that familiar way; as if she weren’t a dangerous Time Lady with a murder streak. As if she were a normal person.

Missy was sat in her chair, which was facing the door today. The Doctor took that to mean she was being more open to visitors, and approached her without hesitance, the gift shifting between his hands. “I brought you something. A Christmas gift. Humans, they have this tradition…”

He abruptly shot out the hand that held the small gift. Missy slowly lifted her head and gave him a smirk as she took the present from him. “You and your humans. Don’t make me sick on Christmas.”

Nardole chhuckled. “The Doctor’s already got that covered. Don’t make me clean up after you both.”

The Doctor shot him a dirty look, but ultimately sneezed into his sleeve three times and kept any comments to himself. Missy quirked a brow, but proceeded to tear through the wrapping paper quietly.

The Doctor fiddled with his thumbs awkwardly as Missy’s gift was revealed, a book. The title struck her immediately. It was written in a fine gold, and in a language she hadn't’ seen in years. Old Gallifreyan, with some circular Gallifreyan decorating the edges. Missy’s mouth hung open, words trying to form but failing to find ground.

“Doctor…”

The Doctor took a fervent step toward her, then stopped himself. “Open it.”

He coughed chestily as Missy peeled open the pages. Inside was a mix of drawings and words, a story told in pictures and letters. Missy’s eyes flicked over the pages and immediately she recognized the two characters.

“I, ugh,” the Doctor stammered, scratching the back of his neck. “I thought maybe if you remembered how things were before, when we were friends...so I wrote a story. It’s, ugh, another Christmas tradition: to remember the past and connect with old friends.”

Missy looked over the book with glazed eyes, hardly picking up any specific word or detail. Her eyes were too watery to read anything anyway. She stayed silent until she knew her throat was working properly and Nardole was off getting tea for everyone. “Why do you keep doing things like this?” The Doctor shook his head and then winced. “Any what’s the matter with you? We don’t get ‘ill’, sweetheart; or have you been spending too much time with the humans to remember that?”

“There’s another version of me nearby. Recently regenerated.”

Missy closed the book and looked up at him. The she smiled, with more warmth than she’d ever shown before. “You look terrible. Come sit down. I'll give you my seat.”

“No, no; I don’t need that.” The Doctor put his hands up in protest, but Missy was already standing. 

“Come on. Let me be good for one day, just to see how it goes.”

The Doctor watched her for a moment, frozen in place. “Are you serious? Are you turning good?”

Missy cocked her head to the side. “Well it is Christmas. I can try it for one day.”

The Doctor sank into the chair and realized how exhausted he was. Missy stood over him, leaning one arm on the chair. She ran a few fingers across his temple and he didn’t have the energy to bat her hand away. 

“Sleep, Doctor.”

The Doctor’s eyelids drifted down halfway, growing heavy. “Missy…I hope we can be friends again soon.”

“Shhh, you need to rest.”

The Doctor’s eyes closed all the way, and his head fell against the side of the chair as he fell asleep. When he was breathing slowly, Missy leaned down. “I hope we can be friends soon, too.”

Missy watched him rest for a moment, and then bent down to kiss his forehead, ignoring the sound of the door opening behind her. Suddenly she heard Nardole beside her.

“Another Christmas tradition.”

With a perturbed expression, Missy turned up to find a sprig of mistletoe in between Nardole’s thumb and forefinger. She took the plant from him with a swiftness that knocked the smile off of his face, and then pulled him toward her. His face was a picture of sheer panic.

“You’re very lucky, Noddy. I promised the Doctor I’d be good today. But don’t push it.”

Nardole shook his head. “I won’t. I promise.”

She pushed him away from herself and he backed up an extra few paces. “Run along, Noddy. I’ll watch over him.”

She gestured toward the Doctor, who sat sleeping deeply. Nardole thought his face looked just a little less pale, his features calmer. “Will you really?”

“Give a girl some credit. I made a promise. That’s a pretty big thing among Timelords.”

“If you say so.”

Nardole hesitantly walked toward the door, but turned back when Missy called his name, surprisingly actually calling him ‘Nardole’ for once. She seemed earnest when she said, “Happy Christmas, Nardole.”

He smiled. “Happy Christmas.”

Narodle exited the vault, thinking that maybe Christmas miracles really could happen, like the humans said. Or maybe it was their traditions working their nostalgic magic. 

But deep down, Nardole knew that none of that had made Missy the caretaker she was acting as today. That was the Doctor’s doing. Professor Doctor, turning a supervillain into a quiet, pensive friend capable of change and remembering childhood with tears in her eyes. They still had a long way to go, but Nardole knew somehow that the Doctor really was going to follow through in his oath to turn Missy good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will, sadly, be the epilogue and final chapter of this story. Thank you to everyone who has been reading and commenting. I hope you've enjoyed it as much as I have enjoyed writing it!


	14. Bill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A young woman, not on the student roster, comes to one of the Doctor's lectures, and leaves an impression that may start a new chapter of the Doctor's life.

Bill

Over the many years the Doctor had been a professor at St. luke’s University, he’d acquired quite a reputation. Students and fellow teachers both would come to his lectures in droves to hear him speak, the veterans of this congregation smiling to each other when the subsequent lesson went wildly off topic. The Doctor hardly seemed to notice all of the new faces not on his roster as he monologued without hesitation. 

One day, for whatever reason, this changed.

He was giving a lecture about poetry, which had spiralled out of control immediately, ending up somewhere along the lines of physics. Nobody seemed to mind, taking notes with smiles on their faces. The Doctor scribbled on the board, transported and rambling. 

When he next turned back to the class and noticed the expressions, he realized suddenly that he’d mentioned a few experiments that hadn’t actually been completed yet. He looked around the room and scratched his chin. Dead eyes stared back at him, blank and perturbed faces with set frowns.

His eyes scanned across the room. Even one of the physics professors, sitting in on his lecture, sat squinting at the board without the hint of understanding or amusement at said misunderstanding.

The Doctor was about to give up and go back to something simpler, like rocket science, but one face stood out in the mass of frowns; a smiling young woman sitting four rows back. Her eyes darted across the board, taking in all of the information, obviously puzzled, but that smile didn’t waver for a second. 

He went back to his lesson and got everybody else back on track, but he kept that young woman in mind. She was an A student, whoever she was. Earnestly excited about learning; eyes shining with the thrill of new knowledge. The Doctor made a mental note to check the roster and learn her name. 

The next day, the Doctor saw her again, though not in class. He was in line in the busy canteen, caught in the middle of the lunchtime mass of people. A spatula dipped into the fries across the counter and a tired but cheerful voice asked, “Do you want some chips?”

He looked up and there she was, that same inquiring smile on her face. He read her nametag: Bill. “Sure, thanks.”

They shared a quick nod and then he dashed to the emptiest table, instantly mobbed by students and professors as he ate and answered questions. By the time he decided he’d better hurry to his lecture, he felt like a celebrity with the crowd that had swarmed around his table. Softly, he smiled to himself and left a few disappointed but enraptured professors behind and went to the lecture hall he’d called home for over seventy years.

The Doctor set his books down and watched particles of dust filter into the air. He’d never get over that old smell. It made him think of his beautiful university, and the life he’d built for himself. But it also made him think of the stars, and time travel, and saving planets. Nostalgic for a life he’d never live again, yet yearning to be somewhere else at the same time.

Quietly, he shook his head. He had a lecture to give, and no time for pondering over the past or dreaming of what couldn’t be. A few students were already slinking in, pulling out their laptops and notebooks to take notes on his words. 

The class went quickly, as they always did nowadays, and soon the Doctor found himself wandering down the hallway without any clear thought where he was going. Eventually he made it back to his office, where he came to his desk and opened and closed a book for five minutes. Nardole appeared from inside the TARDIS, worried.

“Sir, are you alright?”

The Doctor registered his question a moment late. “Yes. Fine.”

“You just seem to be...I don’t know. Lost in thought, lately.”

The Doctor blinked and looked up at Nardole. “Busy mind.”

Nardole blew some air out of his nose. “Right. I know what you’re thinking about. But you’re not running off again.”

“I know. I know, the oath; Missy; the vault; you. Trust me, Nardole, I wish I didn’t have the impulse to leave either. But...it’s always there.”

The Doctor stared pensively, folding his hands together on the desk. Nardole bit his lip, and then widened his eyes. “Maybe you just need to find something to focus on. Something new. Like a new friend, or a new hobby or something.”

“Would that work?”, the Doctor asked, straightening up.

Nardole shrugged. “It’s worth a try. There’s plenty of things to do around here. Especially for you, you’re practically famous. Everyone wants to hang out with you.”

The Doctor glanced down at the desk with a soft smile. Then he looked back up at Nardole. “Do you know Bill? She works in the canteen.”

“I think I’ve seen her, yeah. Why?”

“She came to one of my lectures the other day.”

Nardole chuckled. “Sir, half the school comes to your lectures.”

“She was different, though. I could feel it. I asked a difficult question and everyone else was frowning. But she...she was smiling. Even though she was totally lost.”

Nardole furrowed his eyebrows. “Right. So you want to talk to her? Or what?”

“I want to help her. She wants to learn, I know it. But she’s not on the roster; she’s not a student.”

“You can be her tutor!”

The Doctor smiled. “Yeah, that would be fun, wouldn’t it?”

“It would get your mind off the stars, I think. That would be good for you.”

The Doctor agreed, “Yeah, it would wouldn’t it?”

Nardole nodded. “And a load off my shoulders, mind. Maybe she’ll keep you on Earth for a while.”

“Maybe she will.”

The Doctor smiled and looked at the TARDIS in the corner of the room. “Maybe she will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you soooo much for reading and all of the comments/reviews! I hope that you enjoyed this story half as much as I enjoyed writing it.


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